


Something to Bring You Back

by onstraysod



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Goodbyes, Helmet removal, One Shot, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/pseuds/onstraysod
Summary: Before leaving Sorgan with the child, Din Djarin has a revealing moment with Omera.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 107





	Something to Bring You Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [politicalmamaduck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/gifts).



> Written for politicalmamaduck for the prompt "Mando allows the beautiful widow to take off his helmet"

That evening, after the alarm caused by the hunter had calmed, and with Cara watching over the child, Din found Omera alone in her hut and told her of his plan to depart in the morning. “He’s no longer safe here,” Din explained, “and neither I am, for that matter. Our presence here would keep attracting trouble, and after what this village has already been through, I’m not willing to do that. It’s best if we leave as soon as possible.”

“I understand.” Her tone was as sorrowful as her expression, but she made an effort and forced a smile. “I’m not surprised that you’re taking our safety into consideration. You’re a good man. And we’ll miss you.” Hesitantly, she drew a little closer to him, looking up into the visor of his helmet, her dark eyes luminous with emotion. “Will you promise me something before you go?”

“Yes.”

“Promise that you’ll look after yourself. You think of everyone else first, and I know you’ll do whatever it takes to protect your child, but-- Please, please promise me that you’ll protect yourself, too. What happened today… I can’t imagine the evil of these people who pursue you, who would try to kill an innocent child--"

“I’ll do the best I can, I promise you that,” Din answered gently. Omera nodded.

“I wish I knew how to thank you for what you’ve done for us. Words fall short when I don’t even know your name, when I’ve never looked into your eyes.”

Din Djarin was not, by nature, an impulsive man. He couldn’t afford to be. In his line of work impulse was useful only in a firefight, in the moments between blaster bolts when a sudden flash of inspiration could save one’s skin. But ever since he’d taken the child, Din had felt himself changing, as if the new polished beskar he wore was strong enough to shelter the emergence of his true self, long kept in hiding. He had followed the rules of the Bondsman’s Guild faithfully until the moment his conscience diverged from its strictures; now some small part of himself wondered if the Mandalorian Code that had shaped his life could not be similarly bent when the need arose. He would second guess himself about what he did later; he would no doubt regret it. But at that moment, nothing seemed to matter more.

He took Omera’s hands and lifted them to his helmet, placing them just as she had that afternoon. Then he nodded.

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“Yes.”

As Omera slowly lifted the helmet from his head, Din watched the revelation of his face reflected in her expression. He watched her eyes widen with surprise as she drank in his features, watched her lips part around the shape of a sound or a breath that didn’t emerge. She stared at him wordlessly for a few moments, her eyes locking finally with his before she began to speak.

“I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Din looked down at his boots. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“No! No, not that. Quite the opposite, in fact. I knew I would see a kind and valiant man, I just… I didn’t expect to see one so handsome. It’s truly a shame for you to cover your face.”

When Din raised his eyes again in surprise at her words, Omera diverted her glance, a bloom of embarrassment coloring each cheek. She turned away, setting the helmet on a table, and Din ran a hand through his matted hair, quite certain there was nothing in the least bit handsome about it or the sweat that slicked his brow or the cheeks left too long unshaved.

The mental recitation of all his flaws was interrupted by Omera, who spoke quickly, staring down at her hands as she wrung them together. “I can’t help but feel I’ve been presumptuous now.” She turned her flushed face to Din once more, though her eyes seemed barely able to hold his gaze. “What could I possibly have to offer a man like you?”

Din stared at her, scarcely able to comprehend the question. “Everything.”

He had carried the ache for years without defining it; suddenly he could put a name to each thing he longed for, and all of them were there for the taking on Sorgan. But he could not speak of them. They were too sacred, and he feared with a kind of superstitious fervor that if he spoke of them and didn’t grasp them while they were there within his reach, they would disintegrate and float off amid the stars, never to be reclaimed. A single word would have to stand for all the wanting.

“Everything,” he repeated, and Omera came to him and pressed the palms of both hands to his cuirass as she lifted up her face.

Din knew she was about to kiss him, and he was terrified. The last kiss he’d received was one to the brow, given by his father in the blur of moments before they were separated. The last one he’d bestowed had been pressed to his mother’s tear-stained cheek. Going rigid, he started to pull away, but Omera took his face tenderly in her hands. “It’s okay,” she murmured before her lips pressed softly, warm and lush, against Din’s own.

In his few previous encounters, there had been no intimacy like this. Most had been business transactions with females paid to tolerate idiosyncrasies far stranger than Din’s refusal to remove his helmet. With only enough clothing shed or unfastened to facilitate the act, the encounters had been quick and clinical, leaving him with a cold shame that had settled like a pain in his bones. Yet each time he’d wondered how it might be with a woman who truly cared for him, who desired him more than his credits. He had suppressed it, but he’d felt that urge: to know the taste of another’s mouth, the gentle heat of a supple bare body pressed fully against his flesh.

Motionless for a moment, Din soon realized that there was no fine art to what was happening, that his mouth knew instinctively what to do. He tilted his head a little to one side and parted his lips, tasting Omera more deeply, she responding in kind. His hands went to her waist and he marveled at how small and delicate she felt, and yet how much warmth she seemed to radiate through his armor. He wrapped his arms about her body to hold her tighter against him, and she made a soft mewling noise into his mouth as their kiss deepened, her fingers grasping for purchase on the slick metal of pauldron and cuirass.

When they broke apart it was only their lips that separated; they stood still holding each other, brow pressed to brow. Din could hear the thud of his heartbeat, resounding in his head as loud as the blow of an armorer’s hammer. Omera panted softly, her hands trembling against him.

“Something to bring you back one day,” she whispered, her mouth just brushing his as she formed each word. Din threaded one gloved hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head, burning to kiss her again. But a soft giggle outside dispelled the temptation. Omera pulled away and Din had just enough time to pull on his helmet before Winta brought the child inside the hut, Cara following closely behind.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” the shock trooper said, looking from Omera to Din.

“I was just thanking him for all the help you’ve both given us,” Omera answered, putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, her face lit with a dewy glow. “And saying how much we hope you’ll return one day.”

Cara raised an eyebrow, but Din ignored her, turning instead to scoop the child from Winta’s arms. If he had started to question his decision to depart - and a part of him had, the part that thirsted to taste more of Omera’s skin, that blazed like a hot ember in the center of his chest - his doubts disappeared when the little creature gazed up at him, gurgling a series of unintelligible words. The child’s small fist grasped at the strap of Din’s pulse rifle, and the echo of the blaster shot Cara had fired to kill the hunter replaced the heartbeat in Din’s head. He gave the child’s ear a brief stroke and glanced at Omera.

“One day,” he said, and he hoped he could mean it.


End file.
